


Please Don't Take Him Just Because You Can

by gimmefire



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Biting, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is jealous of Cal and Jorge's budding bromance and thinks there may be something going on between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Don't Take Him Just Because You Can

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a [motorskink](http://motorskink.livejournal.com/) [prompt](http://motorskink.livejournal.com/2300.html?thread=653564#t653564). Title is from the Dolly Parton song [Jolene](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1plvBR02wDs).

_Don't be a twat. Grow up._  
  
The little voice in Matt's head is scornful, but not scornful enough to pull his eyes away from the two riders. The two riders having their little _chat_. Cal laughs his laugh, all teeth and mischief. Jorge smiles his half smile, eyes concealed behind sunglasses. One elbows the other in the ribs. They stand a bit closer together.  
  
Matt's expression darkens. He chews on the inside of his bottom lip to keep himself from...doing something. He hasn't decided what. Something more substantial than looking sullen, he hopes. He juggles the microphone menacingly in one hand, the other balled up into a fist in his pocket, and watches them.  
  
Azi joins the two of them; for a moment Matt's focus switches solely to Cal, hands in his jeans pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels as they talk. Then something is said to make him grin, and Jorge reaches up to poke Cal's stubbled cheek with his forefinger.  
  
"Fucksake," Matt mutters and looks away in disgust.  
  
Suddenly one of his legs collapses under him and he nearly crumples to the ground in an undignified heap; the gentle blow to the back of his knee that caused it registers a second later, and Colin's smirking face a second after that.  
  
"Why don't y'all take a picture?," he asks as he saunters past. Valentino, hitherto unnoticed beside the Texan, just grins widely like some sort of mute sidekick.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Matt mumbles, then calls out to him. "Give us both something to do and come here so I can interview you. I'm not even live so you can swear all you like..."  
  
He's thankful for the distraction of work, and for the fact that Colin happens to stand directly between himself and Cal. But he can't ignore the acidic burn low in his gut, let alone shake it off.  
  
  
  
The burn makes itself known again later that day when Matt notices Jorge and Cal chatting as they walk through the paddock. It intensifies when Jorge touches Cal, patting him on the back and letting the hand linger.  
  
 _Why do you have to keep touching him_ , Matt thinks as he glares. He thinks it as loud as he can in the hope that Jorge somehow hears him. _Why do you have to keep touching him_.  
  
They stop outside Cal's motorhome and the hand at Cal's back slides a little lower - _lower than it fucking should in public, Jesus Christ_ \- then draws back and delivers a playful slap to his backside as, to Matt's blessed relief, Jorge departs towards his own motorhome. The two of them exchange a look, and Matt isn't sure whether to pray that he _did_ see heat in their glance, or that he didn't. Is it better to be seeing things that aren't there, or to be able to confirm your worst suspicions?  
  
"Being a twat," he murmurs to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're being a twat. Enough." He gulps down the remainder of his coffee so he can have the visceral satisfaction of crushing the empty disposable cup. By the time he looks back towards the motorhome, Cal is already gone.  
  
  
"What's up with your face? You annoyed because you couldn't find a more ugly shirt to wear?"  
  
Matt responds with a small smile. It's early evening and Cal has caught him leaving the media centre. He's alone. _Jorge busy, is he?_  
  
Cal looks him up and down, either searching for something else to mock or taking the opportunity to ogle. "You just wear 'em to get my attention, you do..."  
  
"Yeah, because the world revolves around you, Cal." There's a little extra bite in Matt's sardonic reply, but the way Cal looks at him, eyes alight with interest, it's almost as if he hasn't spoken at all.  
  
"...And so I can take them off."  
  
Try as he might, Matt can find no comeback. He cannot break from Cal's hypnotic gaze, and despite his unease, despite his doubts, despite his irritation, that burn in the pit of his stomach is suddenly completely different.  
  
  
Cal's hands are on him before they're even fully into his motorhome, one working his shirt buttons and the other snaking underneath the fabric when impatience gets the better of him. Matt grips his arms and pulls him backwards with him until his back thuds against the closed door, seeking out the younger man's mouth for a kiss more desperate than he'd ever want to admit. He clasps Cal's head, stubble scratching his palms, as the last of his buttons are undone and Cal's hands sweep over his bare chest, his sides, his hips, gripping and pulling Matt into him. Matt groans at the contact, and he feels Cal's lips curve into a smile.  
  
 _Maybe--_  
  
"The sofa. On the sofa," Matt pants, pushing Cal back, deeper into the motorhome. Cal slumps back heavily onto the beige leather, legs spread wide. Matt hurriedly shoulders off his open shirt, at odds with Cal's lazy progress on his own shirt buttons, preoccupied as he seems to be with drinking in the sight before him.  
  
 _Maybe he's--_  
  
Matt kneels onto the sofa, Cal slouched between his legs, and pulls his shirt apart, tilting the younger man's head back for another hungry kiss. Cal grips Matt's thighs and moans low in his throat, lifting his hips in need.  
  
They squirm and wriggle until they can recline, legs tangling, bare skin invitingly warm and craving contact.  
  
" _Fuck_ , you smell good," Matt mumbles into Cal's chest as he smears kisses over his flesh, the words coming almost unbidden. He feels Cal vibrate with a wicked chuckle.  
  
"Can't say the same to you," Cal responds archly. "You smell like Lynx, only cheaper. Ow!"  
  
Matt smiles as he digs his thumbnail into Cal's nipple. "Prick," he mutters affectionately.  
  
 _Maybe--_  
  
But he can't keep himself from thinking.  
  
 _Maybe Jorge's been here._  
  
Four toxic little words that won't leave him alone, even here. They pervade his mind. He pulls back to take a breath, to fruitlessly try to clear his head. Cal's back on his elbows, reclining beneath him, open and waiting, that devilish smile beckoning him back in. Matt feels the press of his thighs, the squeeze of them around his own. He swallows.  
  
 _Maybe Jorge's been_ here.  
  
Something seizes him and before he can stop himself, he reaches back and smacks Cal's denim-clad ass with enough force to make the body beneath him jerk and gasp. Cal stares at him, startled.  
  
"Didn't think you were into that," he murmurs with a breathless chuckle.  
  
"Didn't think you were either." Matt responds darkly. There's no humour in his voice.  
  
A quizzical frown sweeps over Cal's face, gone as quickly as it appears. Visibly dismissing the strange comment, he reaches up to push a hand through Matt's silvery hair, pulling him down for a kiss that's as much teeth as it is lips. He grasps Matt's hand and brings it to his belt buckle in wordless appeal. Matt breaks away and regards Cal carefully, not pulling his hand free.  
  
"You gonna fuck me or what?" From anyone else it would sound impatient, demanding. Cal teases and tempts and grins that grin, lifting his head to graze uncharacteristically sweet little kisses against Matt's jawline.  
  
Matt exhales and looks the younger man in the eye. "Don't take so long to come find me next time, yeah?," he says softly, tugging Cal's belt open.  
  
  
Matt isn't quite what you would call smug the next day. Satisfied, perhaps. Certainly much less of a misery than he was the day before. He almost looks forward to interviewing Jorge. _You ever had Cal over a table, Jorge? You ever made Cal make noises like that, Jorge?_  
  
He didn't breathe a word of his suspicions to Cal, but by the younger man's behaviour with him in the motorhome, Matt is pretty firmly convinced that the supposed deceit has all been in his head. So what if Jorge gets a bit close to Cal? They stand close, they touch, they laugh. But the Spaniard isn't who Cal comes to at night. Or who he comes for...  
  
Matt juggles the microphone casually in one hand, the other checking for the umpteenth time that his shirt is done up all the way to the top. His fingertips graze the side of his neck, the thin, dark red marks left by Cal's teeth thankfully hidden. He can't help but touch them, press them, feel the sharp ache it brings. _Cal ever mark you like this, Jorge?_  
  
As if his thoughts can summon the Devil, Jorge emerges from the back of the garage, ready for the press. Matt doesn't get in first with a question, but he holds his microphone out anyway and does his best not to look pleased with himself.  
  
Jorge scratches at the side of his neck as he answers, then rubs at a particular spot with his thumb. His shirt isn't done up all the way to the top, and a small, dark red mark just peeps over the top of his collar.  
  
And Matt's face falls.


End file.
